


You Don't Quit In This Business

by RueRambunctious



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angry Jim, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anticipated Execution, Bathing/Washing, Boss/Employee Relationship, Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic Violence, Hangover, I swear a lot okay, Jim Is Good, M/M, Marking, Ownership, Poor Sebastian, Relationship Issues, Swearing, Tattoos, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Unhealthy Relationships, Vomiting, Waiting For Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 02:53:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8186663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RueRambunctious/pseuds/RueRambunctious
Summary: Sebastian's had enough. Jim's livid, but he might have to be more flexible if he wants to get his own way.





	1. Chapter 1

Few things in life have shocked Jim Moriarty as much as Sebastian Moran getting up the guts to _quit_.

People don't quit in this business. They die, but they don't quit. Or they quit, and die.

But Jim isn't exactly willing to off Basher, and he has no desire to examine the reasons for that lack of motivation.

Jim ensures tabs are kept on Sebastian. Wouldn't do for anything nasty to happen to the ex-sniper that Jim had not actioned himself.

The information Jim receives is not good. Jim Moriarty has _gifted_ Sebastian with continued life, and what is the moron doing with it? Squandering it, that's what.

Jim is so indignant that he finds himself knocking angrily on Sebastian's ugly front door, and well, what's on the other side when that door opens shocks Jim as well.

Squandering was an understatement. Sebastian Moran is quite evidently in the process of drinking himself to death. He smells of alcohol, and sweat, and vomit, and _death_ and he is dressed in what even by his pathetic standards can only be described as rags.

“Oh,” he slurs as he surveys Jim standing in the doorway, lips pressed whitely together in shock. “It's time, is it?”

Jim closes the door neatly behind himself then slaps Sebastian, hard, across weeks worth of stubble.

“I give you your life wrapped in a fucking bow, and this is what you do with it?” Jim snarls.

Sebastian stumbles and blinks back tears from his bloodshot eyes. “What?” he mumbles, giving Jim a bleary look before rolling his aching jaw until it clicks back into place.

“I am furious with you right now Sebastian,” Jim hisses. “Livid. _Incandescent._ ”

“Because I quit?” Sebastian asks.

Jim reaches up to slap the filthy blond around the ear. “ _Not just that_. I let you have your life, I keep you safe, and you just, what, decided to poison your liver to spite me?”

“I don't understand,” Sebastian replies slowly.

Jim wraps his fingers tightly around Sebastian's red ear and yanks down, snapping into it, “No, you probably don't understand anything right now, do you, because you smell like you only have alcohol filling up your blood stream!”

“Boss, I-”

Jim lets go of Sebastian and shoves him away. “Don't call me that,” he whispers scarily. “You quit, remember? I'm not your boss anymore.”

Sebastian potters about for a moment until he regains his footing. “What do you want?” he sighs. “Either you're here to kill me or you're not.”

Jim clenches his fists. “Oh, you are going to wish I'd came here to kill you by the time I'm done with you.”

He snatches Sebastian's wrist and the blond is so astonished he lets Jim lead him to the bathroom.

“Kneel,” Jim snarls.

Sebastian gives him a confused look.

Jim backhands the useless drunk and jabs a thin, white finger towards the toilet. “Kneel down, get your fingers down your throat, and throw up whatever you can out out of your system, or so help you Basher I'll do it to you myself.”

Sebastian blinks and rubs his sore face, staring dubiously at the porcelain. “What for?”

“Because I can smell your pores from three feet away and the state of your eyes tells me that alcohol poisoning is the way you are likely to expire if you don't _do as you're bloody told!_ ”

“Why does-”

Jim snarls angrily and kicks the back of Sebastian's knees, one hand whipping out to snatch Sebastian's hair to stop the large man knocking himself out against the cistern.

Jim pushes Sebastian against the toilet bowl. “Get on with it!”

He stalks out and lets out an annoyed sigh as he surveys the state of the hovel Sebastian has secluded himself in.

Jim manages to find a clean pint glass at the top of a cupboard, clears a space on the counter to climb up, and retrieves the damned thing. Wipes down his knees. Runs the cold tap for a while then fills the glass with water.

Jim carries the cold drink through to the bathroom and is mildly gratified to see that Sebastian is doing as he is bloody told for once, although it's mildly disgusting to watch.

“Good boy,” Jim says without irony.

Sebastian glances around. Wipes his face.

“Are you about done?” Jim asks.

Sebastian shrugs. “I guess so?”

He stares at the glass of water in Jim's hand. Jim hands it over, helping to steady Sebastian's disgusting hands. “Sip it, don't gulp it, or you won't keep it down,” Jim lectures.

Sebastian nods dully. “Thanks.”

“All of it,” Jim orders. “I want you to have at least three of those before I put you to bed.”

Sebastian snickers weakly, the glass wobbling in his hands. “What?”

Jim gives him a disparaging look. “This isn't a hallucination: this is real life. Which you would know if you weren't trying to pickle your organs. So you can wipe that look off of your face and do as you're told. I'm not playing.”

Sebastian nods. He clutches the cold glass to himself and drinks from it clumsily.

It's frustrating to watch those talented, sniper's hands reduced to this. Jim scowls and steps over to the sink to wash his own. Looks around in disgust.

“Sebastian, you cretin, where do you keep your clean towels?”

Sebastian swallows and replies hoarsely. “That cupboard.”

Jim nods, yanks down all the towels from the rails and dumps them in the laundry basket. He tugs a hand towel and a bath sheet from the cupboard.

Sebastian gives him a confused look. Jim raises his brows and Sebastian takes another sip of water. Then another.

Jim peels off his suit jacket and folds it over the mostly bare towel rail, then unfastens his shirt cuffs and rolls up his sleeves.

“Are you finished?” Jim asks.

Sebastian nods warily and holds up the empty glass. Jim takes it and puts it on the window sill.

“Get stripped.”

Sebastian tilts his head. “What?”

Jim gives him a harsh look. “You are disgusting, Sebastian. You are going to remove those rags, which I am later going to _burn_ and you're going to get into this limescale ridden shower. Which I know is vile, but it's your fault that it's filthy so you'll just have to suck it up.”

Sebastian rubs his sweaty forehead in confusion. “What do I have to shower for?”

Jim slaps him. “Because you are filthy!”

“Well, yeah,” Sebastian admits, “but why do you care?”

Jim slaps Sebastian again, harder, making the blond's teeth rattle and eyes water. “This is not a conversation. I have given you your orders.”

Sebastian rubs his swollen face. “I don't need to take orders from you any more. I already quit.”

Jim snatches Sebastian's ear and twists, making the bigger man wince. “You can be a good little boy Sebastian, or I can pluck out your eyes and you can see how rebellious you feel when you're blind. _Is that clear?_ ”

“Fine, Jim, alright,” Sebastian sighs, batting the punishing hand away.

“Now get up,” Jim bites. “Get undressed. Get in the fucking shower.”

Sebastian gets up slowly, not from belligerence but weakness, and does his best to obey. Jim has to help so the blond does not fall over.

“Great lump,” Jim scolds, slapping Sebastian's rear lightly.

Sebastian chews his dry lip.

Jim reaches around him and pulls down the shower head. “Both palms flat on the wall and legs spread,” he orders.

Sebastian looks at him quickly. “ _What_?”

Jim gives him a long suffering look. “You can barely stay upright. Do you really think you'll manage to sufficiently wash yourself _and_ avoid falling over, probably right through, the shower glass?”

Sebastian huffs, hangs his head in annoyance. “No.”

“Well now that we've established that as usual I am always right, will you please do as I've said?”

Sebastian sighs. Grits his teeth. He turns his head away _and_ closes his eyes. But he obeys.

Jim keeps the spray directed away from Sebastian until it reaches an adequate temperature, then starts with Sebastian's scalp and works his way down. Sebastian's spread legs are the only way it is possible to reach.

“You don't have shampoo,” Jim states coolly.

“I just use shower gel,” Sebastian shrugs. “It's not like my hair's all that long.”

“Shower gel dries out your hair,” Jim scolds, but he squirts some out on Sebastian's crown anyway and works it into a lather.

Sebastian keeps his eyes pressed closed, foam dripping down his face. “You've never complained before.”

“Complaining now,” Jim responds, scrubbing at Sebastian's ears.

Sebastian tries not to squirm and mutters, “Height of your priority list, is it?”

Jim reaches over and turns the water ice cold for a moment, listening to Sebastian's breathing catch.

“Any other clever little comments, Sebastian?” Jim asks coldly.

Sebastian shakes his wet head, shivering. “No.”

Jim turns the heat back up. Rubs shower gel into Sebastian's muscular neck, shoulders and arms, kneading into the muscles a little as he works.

Sebastian makes a meek little pleased noise in his chest.

“That feel better?” Jim asks softly.

Sebastian nods.

“Good,” Jim murmurs. He works down Sebastian's scarred back.

Then Sebastian freezes. He turns around, shaking his head as he reaches for Jim's wet wrist. “No.”

“No, what?” Jim asks.

“I… can't,” Sebastian declares.

Jim sighs. “What are you talking about Moran?”

“I… can do that myself. I don't… Not when we're…”

Jim closes his eyes, trying to make sense of the blond's jibberish. Then opens them. “My Tiger is suddenly shy about my soaping up his arse because he was a traitorous little cunt and quit? Is that it?”

Sebastian gives him a pained look.

Jim sighs. “Bloody grow a pair, would you? I'm not going to rape you in this disgusting little shower.”

“Wasn't what I-”

Jim pushes Sebastian back against the wall and continues, lingering on Sebastian's twitching cheeks just to be spiteful.

Sebastian tries not to squirm. Jim holds him against the wall and pulls away one leg, massaging the muscles and sliding down to rub soap between Sebastian's toes.

Then Jim switches legs. It's slippery for Sebastian, but Jim keeps a forearm in the small of his back, propping the larger man stable.

He rinses off Sebastian's feet. “Turn around.”

Sebastian does so reluctantly, wobbling a little on the wet shower base.

Jim avoids his eyes but washes him thoroughly, stroking soap into Sebastian's blond stubble and growling, “I'm taking a razor to this tomorrow.”

Like anyone wants Jim at their face with a sharp object. But Sebastian nods submissively.

Jim works his way down until all that is left to wash is Sebastian's groin. He can see the tension and misery in the set of Sebastian's shoulders and jaw.

“Fine, do this part yourself if you're feeling so precious,” Jim drawls with a roll of his eyes.

Sebastian obeys, but it doesn't feel any better. He feels exposed. Raw in Jim's company.

Jim switches off the water and turns, reaching for the large towel. He envelopes Sebastian in it gently, like when the blond gets shot or badly injured during work.

Jim helps Sebastian out of the shower and retrieves the glass.

Sebastian legs are wobbling, and he's leaning on Jim more than he wants to. “I need to pee,” he states gruffly.

Jim glances at him. “Do you need help aiming?”

Sebastian flushes a little, although it's hard to tell when he's just of of the shower. Jim notices anyway. “I can manage. I'll sit.”

Jim nods and helps him over, then disappears back to the kitchen to fill the glass again.

He raps his knuckles against the doorframe of the bathroom. “Can I come in?”

Sebastian grunts out an affirmative, leaning heavily against the sink.

Jim sighs. “Why do you do this to yourself?” he mutters rhetorically.

Sebastian gives him a look, but Jim pushes the glass to his lips before he can retort.

Jim waits until Sebastian is finished then swaps the glass for Sebastian's toothbrush, loading it with toothpaste and pushing it into Sebastian's hand.

The blond rolls his eyes but brushes his teeth obediently.

He follows Jim slowly to the bedroom.

Jim surveys the room and pinches his nose. “No. I've just cleaned you. You're not sleeping in this.”

Sebastian bites his lip, then indicates where the clean bedding is kept. He stumbles forwards to attempt to strip the bed.

Jim puts a restraining hand lightly on Sebastian's shoulder. “I'll get it.”

“But-”

“Don't talk back to me Moran,” Jim responds in a clipped voice. He strips the bed, tempted to burn the sheets as well, but carries them through to the bathroom and squashes them into the basket with the towels.

He returns and pulls on clean sheets. Points at the bed. “In.”

Sebastian finally obeys without a word or a look.

Jim looks around the room in disgust. He stalks through to the kitchen and is ridiculously grateful to find black bags.

He returns to the bedroom and starts throwing the empty cans and assorted rubbish into the bags. If Sebastian has anything sentimental amongst this rot that's too bad, because it's all going in the fucking incinerator.

Sebastian leans on his knees and scruitnises Jim. “Do you want a hand?”

“No,” Jim mutters. “I just can't be amongst all this mess.” He sighs. “Get some sleep, Sebastian, please.”

“We aren't going to talk?” Sebastian queries.

Jim pauses and looks around properly. “You're still too drunk to be able to remember enough in the morning, and I am not going to have the conversation twice. Just get some rest please. We'll talk in the morning.”

Sebastian chews his lip. “Honest?”

“Get to sleep, Tiger, or I'll knock you out myself.”


	2. Chapter 2

Sebastian is perplexed to wake up beside Jim, in clean sheets, in his grotty little flat. Which isn't as grotty as he remembers it being recently.

Although he doesn't half feel ill.

Jim rolls around, handsome and suave and dark eyes glittering in the early morning. He gives Sebastian an assessing look. “How are you?”

“Rough,” Sebastian admits. “Where did you come from?”

Jim flashes his teeth not so much in amusement as dry victory. “I did tell you that you wouldn't remember much.”

Sebastian considers. He doesn't feel sore in the way he would expect if Jim had claimed him last night. Although his face hurts as though he's had a few rebukes.

Jim gives Sebastian a pitying look as though he can read Sebastian's mind. Which may be possible. “We didn't fuck. I was cross with you.”

“I seem to be in pretty good shape for someone you were cross with,” Sebastian mutters.

Jim purses his lips. “Hmm. Well. You've been lucky, haven't you?”

Sebastian doesn't know, but nods anyway. Rubs his face groggily. “Am I still in trouble?”

Jim sways his head. “Well ye-es,” he responds thoughtfully. “But there's no point punishing you until you understand what for.”

Sebastian's already queasy stomach turns cold. “Oh.”

Jim gives him a pitying look. “Stop worrying Basher; it won't make you feel better.”

Sebastian juts his lip, managing to look more like a worried little boy than a competent sniper, despite the broad shoulders and telling scars.

Jim pats his head. “Do you need to be sick again?”

Again? Shit. Sebastian shakes his head, frowning away the dizzy feeling that brings. It's mostly just that his stomach feels raw and his throat burns. Although his mouth tastes like he actually brushed his teeth. Must have been Jim's influence.

Jim reaches around and lifts a glass which he passes to Sebastian. “Drink that.”

Water. Sebastian can sort of remember being given water last night, now that he looks at the glass. He sits up slowly, feeling delicate, and drinks obediently before Jim can scold.

Jim watches him with an unreadable expression. “Your fridge is empty.”

“Yeah, sorry, I-” Sebastian freezes as some of his memories return in a jumble. “Didn't I quit?”

Jim's eyes flash dangerously. “You did,” he says in a barely contained voice.

Sebastian's stomach roils and it's not just the hangover. “Why are you in my bed?” he asks warily.

“How many brain cells did you drink away?” Jim snaps softly.

Sebastian bites his lip. Starts to process an apology, but Jim holds up a palm stiffly in restraint.

“What do you need for breakfast?” he asks crisply.

Sebastian's jaw hangs open in confusion. “What?”

Jim sighs and delicately removes the part-full glass back to the wet ring it had made earlier. Then he crashed his palm against Sebastian's face.

“You know better than to question me, Moran.”

Sebastian raises his chin. “Yes, sir.” His face fucking burns.

Jim gives him a warning look.

Breakfast.

“I don't know what I need for breakfast,” Sebastian admits. Punishment? A catch-up on what the hell happened last night? Actually, quite a few days are blurry. More than a few.

Jim seems to pick up on the confusion. “For your hangover, Bastian, you fool. What makes you feel better?”

“Oh,” Sebastian replies softly. “Something greasy, I suppose?”

“I'll get dressed and go get it,” Jim announces. “Can you wait until I've washed?”

Sebastian blinks stupidly.

“Sebastian,” Jim growls. He is already standing, but reaches for the glass and hands it back.

Sebastian takes it obediently. “You're… going to get my breakfast?” he questions.

“That's what I said, didn't I, moron?”

Sebastian considers. Maybe he actually died. “Can you bring me a coffee from the burger van as well? Please?”

Jim gives him astonished look. Jim Moriarty does not acknowledge burger vans. He was going to get meat from a butcher's and grill it in Sebastian's joke of a kitchen.

But fine, life was currently ridiculous anyway.

“Sure, Seb,” Jim agrees. He lifts his folded clothes from yesterday.

Sebastian watches Jim move around dressed only in his boxers and socks. He's pale and wiry, not oblivious to Sebastian's gaze but not upset by it either. Sebastian finishes his drink and settles on a pillow. This doesn't feel like Hell.

Jim gives him a quick twitch of lips, which is his attempt to smile politely. “I won't be long, Tiger.”

Sebastian cuddles the pillow and watches Jim with a fond smile. “Love you.”

He buries his face sleepily in the pillow, completely missing Jim's look of shock. How fucking much _did_ Sebastian drink last night?

Jim walks through to the shower feeling bewildered. He washes quickly in the vile space and dresses quickly in yesterday's clothes. He's not too rumpled.

Jim pads downstairs and scopes around for the fucking van. Retrieves Sebastian's 'breakfast' -there is no way Jim is touching this crap himself- and carries it back upstairs.

“Basher!” he calls. “Food.”

Sebastian appears from the bathroom, blinking dubiously at the immaculate state of his living area.

Jim follows his gaze. “I had to do the minimum necessary to make this place fit for human habitation to tolerate spending the night here,” he explains.

Sebastian smiles crookedly. “Didn't know you were human.”

Jim rolls his eyes. “Get back to bed, you arse. You can eat there, but if you get crumbs on my side of the bed I'll gut you.”

Sebastian takes the coffee gratefully and shuffles back to the bedroom. “I thought it's all your side of the bed?”

“Better be careful then, hadn't you?” Jim retorts. He hands Sebastian the polystyrene, feeling mildly nauseated by all the strong smells.

Sebastian eats happily. “Bit late for a last meal, isn't it?” he comments.

Jim gives him a look. He feels the urge to hit Sebastian, really should hit Sebastian, but the blond looks so content that the urge evaporates.

“It should have been apparent, had you not drank your mind away, and had you actually been in possession of adequate grey matter in the first place, that I had chosen not to kill you,” Jim tells the wall in a jagged voice.

Sebastian stops eating and raises his brows questioningly. He wants to ask why, but he's not _that_ stupid. Although he's still not convinced he hasn't died.

Jim gives him a sidelong look. “You're not asking questions?”

Sebastian concentrates on his food. “You don't like questions.”

Jim gives a strangled sort of laugh which is both amusement and frustration. “ _Now_ you learn your place?”

Sebastian chews quietly. Swallows. “I have no idea what my place is if I don't work for you and you aren't having me killed.”

Jim looks angry, and focuses on kicking off his leather shoes. The cheap mattress dips as he sits down in yesterday's expensive suit beside the obliviously naked Sebastian.

Sebastian tries to look occupied as he waits for a response. The blond licks the crumbs off of his calloused fingers and wraps both hands around the cooling coffee. 

“I am not happy about it,” Jim admits frostily.

“I didn't expect you to be,” Sebastian points out before he can stop himself.

Jim's head snaps around with a deadly glare.

Sebastian shrinks his broad shoulders in a little. “Sorry.”

“Take care with that tongue or I'll cut it out,” Jim growls, but he sounds tired. 

Sebastian bobs his head, holding the styrofoam cup tightly.

“You're going to need to come back,” Jim announces after a number of beats.

“I haven't changed my mind, Jim,” Sebastian states carefully.

“You don't _have_ a mind, Basher, you have _me_ and _I_ tell you what to do,” Jim barks.

Sebastian knocks back the rest of the black coffee with a grimace so it doesn't get knocked over him. “I _quit_ , Jim. That's it.”

“I am not accepting your resignation Moran,” Jim retorts.

Sebastian sighs. “Jim...”

“You're coming back and that's the end of the conversation, Sebastian. You're clearly not capable of living by yourself.”

Sebastian blinks. “Whether I drink myself to death or not isn't really any of your business anymore, Jim.”

Jim's eyes flash and he snaps out his arm, gripping Sebastian's throat with enough force to knock the larger man onto his back. He straddles Sebastian and swiftly punches his jaw hard enough that Sebastian's vision is white for a moment.

“I. Still. Own. You,” Jim spits.

Sebastian frowns and sits up, pushing Jim off of him lightly. He curls his thick arms over his knees. “I don't care. Nothing's changed. I told you why I quit, and… that's it.”

“Sebastian,” Jim warns dangerously, “if I have to put you in the boot of my car and chain you to my bed that's fine with me. But you _are_ coming back.”

Sebastian's eyes flash, but before Jim can react to the warning Sebastian has leapt at him. Knocked them both to the floor and pinned Jim into the disgusting carpet. “You don't _fucking_ get it do you?” Sebastian pants. “You think you're so bloody smart but you have _no idea_ what you're doing to me.”

Jim curls his lips. “Has it occurred to you that I simply do not _care_ , Sebastian?”

Sebastian sits up on Jim's hips, pulling his hands away. “I fucking hate you,” he whispers.

“Oh, sweetheart, you'd find this so much easier if that were true,” Jim taunts.

Sebastian lunges forwards and buries his fingers in the thin hair around Jim's skull, smashing it into the carpet.

Jim breathes through his nose, evidently annoyed. “Remove your hand this second, Moran, or I'll remove it from your fucking body.”

“Fucking make me,” Sebastian snarls back, but he lets go.

Jim snatches up one of his shoes before Sebastian can do more than raise his arms defensively, and slashes an angry gouge down Sebastian's bare shoulder. “I have had _enough_ of your little tantrum, Moran,” Jim announces coldly, his voice shaking a little with fury.

“Then kill me already,” Sebastian responds gruffly, standing up and ignoring the burn and blood from his shoulder. “I'm not coming home even if you bring me in pieces.”

Jim sighs pointedly and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Has it not occurred to you,” he snarls, “somewhere in that tiny mind of yours, that I am _really_ making an effort with you?”

Sebastian regards him quietly. “You'll need to dumb it down more than that, boss.”

Jim rubs his hand over his face, looking tired. The rings under his eyes are a permanent feature, but they're darker than Sebastian remembers.

“I will consider a compromise,” Jim mutters. “If you come back.”

“You don't know how to compromise,” Sebastian declares bleakly.

Jim looks up at him angrily, not even finding the drive to get up off of the threadbare flooring. “Clearly I do not wear my emotions freely,” he spits, “but if you cannot see that everything I've done so far, how I treat you, is… is an acknowledgement of...”

Sebastian feels no sympathy, and crosses his arms dispassionately. “Is an acknowledgement of what, Jim?”

Jim closes his eyes. Trying to still the agitation. “You belong by my side, Tiger.”

Sebastian shakes his head. “It's not enough. It's killing me.”

Jim stands, his fingers twitching. “I can't kill my _heart_ Sebastian!”

Sebastian blinks.

Jim takes a step back, appalled, and he might be even more surprised that Sebastian at his choice of words. Even Sebastian cannot misinterpret that.

Sebastian swallows. Decides to be brave and push a little more. “Ignoring me like that _was_ killing me. I can't live like that, Jim.”

Jim sighs, and he really should just kill the insubordinate bastard right now and be done with it, but instead he steps closer.

Unfastens his belt and pushes Sebastian onto the small bed.

“Then I shall endeavour not to ignore you,” Jim growls, capturing the wide-eyed blond with his mouth.


	3. Chapter 3

Sebastian quivers on his bed, burning, hurting everywhere, and not quite able to bring himself to care. His insides are protesting that he is too hungover for such rough usage, but he lies on his belly anyway because his arse, thighs and back are shredded.

He really, bloody hurts.

But it's good, because… Jim is licking his way up the agonising, burning lines of red, soothing and kissing them with his tongue.

“What do you think, Tiger?” Jim teases, his voice a dark purr. “Do you like your new stripes?”

Sebastian bows his head. The part of him that still has any pride left wants to snarl a denial, but it's long past the stage of that being taken seriously, because he's spilled his load over and over as Jim punished and claimed him.

Jim spanks Sebastian sharply at the silence. The breath catches in Sebastian's throat. More blood transfers to Jim's hand.

“Yes, Boss,” Sebastian blurts. His thighs are tense with pain, his lashes wet from crying, but Jim trails his fingertips soothingly down the skin.

“Poor, wicked Sebastian,” Jim drawls, smirking a little. “You've missed being put in your place like this, haven't you?”

Yes. Sebastian's cheeks flush, but he's starting to recover his cockiness after the earlier thrashing, and he doesn't reply.

Jim sighs and bites down hard on one of Sebastian's nasty welts, forcing a genuine cry from the blond's throat. Sebastian's throat and neck are the only places not bleeding. He would wonder about that if his brains didn't feel quite so scrambled.

“Sebastian?”

Sebastian sighs. “ _Yes_ , Jim,” he sighs, a bit of petulance bleeding into his tone.

Jim pulls Sebastian up by the hair. “And who do you belong to?”

Sebastian swallows, and he isn't sulky at all as he looks over his shoulder and admits, “You, Jim.”

Jim smiles in a way that sends a bolt of terror and arousal to Sebastian's inside. “Good,” Jim states darkly, “because I'm going to ensure you don't forget that this time.”

Sebastian spins around, wincing as he leans on his side and puts pressure on the abrasions there. Even the soles of his feet have been cut.

Sebastian gives Jim a searching look. They've reached the stage of aftercare: Jim kissing and teasing the worst of the marks before he reaches for the first aid kit. Surely the lesson is over?

Jim chuckles at the naked concern on Sebastian's face and rubs his hand across the blond's tender face soothingly. “What, you thought some bleeding and some rough fucking would get you out of trouble, Seb?”

Sebastian swallows, feeling too weak to even pretend toughness.

Jim gives him a fond, pitying look. “Don't worry, I'm going to let you rest for a while before you get what you deserve.”

Sebastian knows he has absolutely no fight left in him, so he swallows his pride again and tries keening submissively at Jim.

The brunet smiles, but reaches down and gives Sebastian another, harsher, smack along brutalised skin. “You know better than to try and get out of what you've earned, little boy,” Jim warns.

Sebastian sniffs, blinking back more tears. He flops back down onto his sore belly.

Jim moves across the bed and strokes Sebastian's skull kindly. “Oh dear, Tiger, don't you trust me?”

Sebastian raises his eyes, not bothering to hide his pitiful expression. Jim has heard him scream and cry and beg all morning.

“I trust you,” Sebastian agrees softly, because Jim might be terrifying and unpredictable, but Sebastian _does_ trust him. Crazy as that seems.

Jim hums in approval and runs his hand delicately over Sebastian's raw, swollen, savaged back. “Good boy. Now, would you like me to take care of you?”

Sebastian nods meekly. “Please, Boss.”

Jim swoops down for a kiss, that is both biting and uncharacteristically gentle.

Sebastian feels his stomach flutter, and it's not the hangover. Before Sebastian can embarrass himself saying anything stupid, Jim is very carefully cleaning up the mess he has made of Sebastian's body and tending to the severe wounds.

Sebastian closes his eyes as Jim works. It's odd how he can feel so safe when the previously clean sheets around him are saturated in his own blood. The mattress will be deeply stained.

The blond has almost forgotten Jim's ominous threat by the time Jim finishes and settles beside him quietly. Sebastian nuzzles in and Jim strokes his hair possessively.

Eventually Jim sits up and pats Sebastian's aching bottom lightly. “That's long enough, Basher.”

Sebastian sighs, pressing his face into the mattress for a second, then pulls himself to his stinging feet.

Then he remembers he still has further punishment to endure, and his stomach drops.

Jim's lips smirk sadistically. “Not entirely stupid, are you?”

Sebastian drops his eyes and reaches stiffly for something to wear. Jim steps over to help, which Sebastian is grateful for, because he's unconvinced how well he might have managed alone.

Jim drops to his knees and ties Sebastian's shoes so that the blond doesn't have to put too much pressure on fresh wounds.

“Come along then.”

Sebastian feels like crying when Jim leads him to the car and Sebastian realises all of his bandaged aches are going to be pressed against the passenger seat under his heavy weight.

Jim's eyes sparkle in amusement as he reaches up to cuff the dallying Sebastian's skull lightly. “We've an appointment to keep, Basher.”

Sebastian wonders whether that's a turn of phrase or an actual appointment, and when Jim made it if so. Jim's gaze doesn't give anything away, so Sebastian sighs and slinks into the car.

It fucking hurts. It's horrible sitting on his lashes and there is absolutely no way to get comfortable.

Jim reverses out of the parking space and gives Sebastian an amused chastising, “Stop that unsightly fidgeting, Moran.”

Sebastian bites his lip. “Yes Boss.”

“Wouldn't want to have to pull over and spank you for being a distraction,” Jim teases, keeping his eyes on the road.

Sebastian closes his eyes, knowing it's a joke, but also that Jim wouldn't think twice about humiliating Sebastian like that if he felt provoked. The blond does his best not to move and tries to ignore how absolutely unpleasant it feels to be strapped against the seat.

Jim starts to loosen his tie with one hand, the other still on the steering wheel, and dumps the accessory on Sebastian's lap. “Put that around your eyes, dear. You're going to get a surprise.”

Sebastian gives Jim a look, but the brunet stares through the windshield, ignoring him. Sebastian sighs and obliges obediently, hating how it stings as he moves. He closes his eyes, because he can't see a thing anymore anyway.

Jim parks and comes around to the passenger side to open the door and unfasten Sebastian's belt. Which the blond could have managed, but he knows not to argue.

Jim pulls him out of the car and leads Sebastian through the artificial darkness.

Sebastian feels his stomach twist in foreboding as Jim leads him carefully into a building. 

He hears noise. Moving about. There's someone else in this room.

Masculine scent.

The room itself smells… clean? A bit like chemicals.

“There's a chair in front of you, Sebastian,” Jim breaks into his thoughts. “I want you to straddle the back of it and get yourself comfortable, because I won't be happy if you move around.”

Sebastian swallows. “Yes, Boss.” He reaches out blindly, feeling for the chair, and Jim efficiently guides him into it.

Jim lets go, and Sebastian feels panic for an instant, but then Jim's hands are back, loosening the tie but keeping it pressed over Sebastian's eyes. Jim readjusts it and fastens the blindfold to the side, ensuring the ends don't dangle down Sebastian's neck.

Jim finishes but leaves a hand on Sebastian's broad, bloody shoulder, keeping the blond anchored.

Sebastian can hear the unknown man moving things around. Opening things? Small things. Little noises.

Footsteps approach and Jim strokes cool fingers down Sebastian's bare neck. “I want it here,” Jim demands coolly.

Sebastian's stomach feels tight. Wants _what_ there?

“Alright.” The stranger in the room. London accent, mostly casual tone. A little nervous of Jim fucking Moriarty's presence, but confident in his skills, whatever they are.

“Get on with it then.” Jim.

A pause. “You don't want 'im restrained first?”

“He's a silly boy, but he's not _stupid_ ,” Jim responds icily. 

Sebastian swallows, recognising the instruction present.

Jim continues, “I suggest you don't lean on his back to work, or he'll flinch.”

“Fair enough,” replies the Londoner, and there's the sound of wheels being pulled over. A small trolley perhaps.

Sebastian feels gloved fingers on his neck and tries not to react.

“Are you sure you want this freehand?”

“I've researched your work and I am confident of your capabilities. I hardly need say that if you botch this I'll take both your arms as compensation,” Jim responds coolly.

Sebastian wonders whether he's about to have a tracker fitted in his neck. Or a bomb. Something melodramatic to suit Jim's eccentric tastes.

There's a noise Sebastian cannot place.

Then there is a _buzzing_ and Sebastian thinks he probably knows exactly what's coming. A tattoo gun.

“Low enough to be covered -just- by a shirt collar, but prominent. Clear, dominating typography, stylised appropriately at the bottom,” Jim reminds the tattoo artist.

The stranger makes a noise of acknowledgement and then there's a sting in Sebastian's neck. It's not as bad as most of Jim's love taps but it's pretty uncomfortable, especially over the nubs of the blond's spine.

It doesn't take very long, but apparently Sebastian's a bleeder because he can feel a tissue wiping his neck often. A substance is wiped into his neck, cool, soothing, and then something protective is stuck over the top of it.

Sebastian can feel the adrenaline coursing through him.

There's a sound close by of someone opening and rattling through a small drawer. Then Jim is moving, but not taking his hand from Sebastian's shoulder, (perhaps taking something from the other man?) before moving back.

“The instructions are on the tube,” the artist states. “If you want to keep it vivid. And not infected. No swimming, no sunbeds, no getting it wet for a few days.”

Jim grunts. Sebastian smells notes at they glide past his nose in Jim's fist.

“Come along,” Jim announces, tapping Sebastian's swollen cheek lightly.

Sebastian stands and reaches to gingerly prod at his neck. Jim slaps his hand away. “Car, Moran.”

“I don't get to see?” Sebastian grumbles very quietly.

“Later,” Jim declares, and then he's guiding Sebastian back to the car.

Getting repeatedly stabbed in the neck with a needle was far more enjoyable than getting back in the car and putting weight on his broken skin. Sebastian sighs. Reaches up to his tattoo again.

Jim smacks the hand away, then slaps Sebastian firmly on his scabbing shoulder to emphasise the point.

“Ow,” Sebastian mutters.

“Oh don't be a child,” Jim comments, reaching over to pull on Sebastian's belt.

“You're not supposed to tattoo children,” Sebastian responds mildly.

Jim snorts. “I don't think you're supposed to tattoo your errant lover without written consent either.”

“I didn't give you verbal consent either.”

“It's alright, you needed it,” Jim declares airily, pressing down on the clutch.

“I needed a tattoo?” Sebastian responds a little incredulously.

“You needed _that_ tattoo,” Jim asserts.

“What's special about it?” Sebastian mutters. He risks reaching up again, but Jim swats him without even taking his eyes from the road.

“You mean asides from it being a present from your master?”

“Don't call yourself that,” Sebastian moans. “My Boss. You're my _Boss_.”

“Not just your Boss. And I own you, do I not?”

Sebastian sighs. “That's not the point. I hate that, like I'm your pet.”

“Oh, you're not going to like your new artwork then.”

Sebastian rips off his blindfold and stares at Jim. “You did not get 'Moriarty's Pet' emblazoned on my _neck_?”

Jim purses his lips in amusement. “Not quite. Should I have done? We can go back and have that placed somewhere else, if you like. Perhaps your forehead, although that might make it a little more difficult to work inconspicuously.”

Sebastian narrows his eyes. Would have thrown himself sulkily back into his seat if he was less bloody sore.

“Oh relax Tiger, it's very pretty,” Jim smiles.

“You're far too happy about this,” Sebastian huffs.

“You know, it might actually have been worth your naughtiness to have you marked like this,” Jim purrs.

Sebastian clenches his fists on either side of the seat and tries not to let it show that he feels a thrill of pleasure at Jim's possessiveness.

“Jim?”

“Yes, baby?”

Sebastian blinks, unsure whether Jim's making fun or trying to be gentle. “What's on my neck?”

“I'll show you when I take the cling film off,” Jim responds.

“ _Jim_.”

Jim is quiet as he parks in Conduit Street then unfastens his belt and turns around to meet Sebastian's gaze seriously. “It's your reason not to run away again. Not to put yourself in harm's way again.”

Sebastian chews his lip. “We're criminals. I'm always in harm's way.”

Jim grips the blond's chin. “You know _exactly_ what I'm referring to, my reckless alcoholic.”

Sebastian sighs, but follows Jim back up to Jim's flat. It's a relief to get out of the car and take the pressure off of his wounds. 

Jim won't let Sebastian see the ink until the next morning, but he keeps Sebastian occupied by taking him repeatedly. Ensuring Sebastian is limping when he returns to work.

Jim helps Sebastian wash in the morning and forces him to dress before Jim leads him to a mirror. Jim switches his phone to camera mode and uses it as a second mirror, bouncing back an image of Sebastian's neck which moves as he does.

Sebastian swallows. “Jim, if I'm sitting at a meeting anyone standing will be able to see this.”

“I know,” Jim says. “Do you want to see the whole thing?”

Sebastian makes a face. “I'm not sure, but I guess I should start getting used to it since it's forever.”

Jim's lips curl upwards and he helps ease down Sebastian's shirt to expose the tattoo.

Sebastian intakes breath quickly and stares at the black lines.

Jim presses a kiss against the skin and Sebastian shivers. Jim has had the back of Sebastian's neck tattooed with 'Property of JM'. 

Sebastian swallows. A little bit of him is horrified, but he's also at least half hard. Not that Jim needs to know that.

“What do you think?” Jim asks softly.

“It's… different,” Sebastian says thickly.

“It's _permanent_ ,” Jim asserts.

Sebastian's gaze flicks to him in confusion. Obviously it's permanent, Sebastian's not stupid enough to risk lasering Jim's whim…

And then Sebastian understands.

The tattoo isn't about putting Sebastian in his place in front of Jim's other employees after insubordination, although that's how it will look.

Jim has put a permanent claim on Sebastian. The blond swallows.

“Oh, something finally penetrated that thick skull of yours, did it?” Jim asks knowingly. His expression is a bit tight. Might have been shy on a less lethal face.

“I think I can live with this,” Sebastian murmurs, leaning into Jim's smaller frame a little even though his shredded back burns.

Jim pushes his head up against Sebastian's. “You weren't getting the choice.” 

He swats Sebastian lightly. “Now come on, it's about time you were seen to be back to work with your tail between your legs.”

Sebastian bites his lip at the sting and sighs through his nose about the approaching embarrassment. He lets Jim help pull the shirt back over Sebastian's torn shoulders, and smiles when Jim's lips brush over the ink again.

“Do _you_ like my new tattoo?” Sebastian asks a little breathily.

Jim gives one of his rare, unguarded smiles, then straightens his face and makes his voice stern. “You can present it to me for inspection. Every day.”

Sebastian has a warm feeling in his chest, and grins as Jim grabs his skull and pulls him in for a rough kiss.

Jim strokes the back of Sebastian's neck before he pulls away. “Sebastian?” he prompts, his dark eyes glittering and his voice rich.

Oh. “ _Yes Boss_.”


End file.
